Busker Boy

Call me 📞

I make my way outside to clean up messy tables, literally people don't give a shit about the state they leave their tables. They don't have the piece of mind to make their left overs look even a touch spic and spam for a weak skinny 16 year old to clean up. Outside I hear busking from the other side of the road, it sounds beautiful and peaceful just like how I imagine Paris to be like. But it's not just the music that's gotten me distracted but the 17/18 year old boy who's strumming his guitar. Dark brown hair stood straight up, tall and super handsome. He was wearing long denim jeans and a dark green jumper. He didn't notice me at all... that I don't think, but I cleaned up the table and did the dishes as quickly as possible just so I could get another glimpse of him. This time he moved closer to my work, I was super happy and all I wanted to do was sit down next to him and listen to him play. But I couldn't which pissed me off, he looked at me and I went red and gave him this half goofy grin and fast walked back inside. Holy shit I thought to myself I need to go back out. It got so busy, I didn't have the time to go out and listen to him play. I was serving at the counter and right at that moment he walked inside. He walked into my work!? Why did he have to walk into my work! I went red and was biting my lip as he made his way over to the counter. "H,hello! What can, can I, I get for you to, to day!" Fuck I'm so nervous I can't speak properly. He leaned in close to me and stared right into my eyes. "Pity, I came into this place because I thought you where on the menu, I guess not!" He lets out a long sigh. I didn't know what he was doing! Is he hitting on me? What do I say! "Uh um I.. haha eh I" Violet just say something anything! "I'm sorry I'm not on the menu, wouldn't that be cannibalism?" Fuck! Why did I say that! I'm so stupid he probably thinks I'm a total weirdo now! He steps back and gives me a look that is too hard for me to read. After what seemed 30 years he slams his hand on the counter and under his hand is a white piece of paper that looked like it was ripped out of an old maths book. "Cya around hot stuff~" and he's gone. I pick up the piece of paper and it has a number written on it, who keeps a piece of paper in their ass pocket. (thats what I call the back pocket of the jeans) after work I lay on my bed and call the number, it rings 3 and than 4 times until someone answers the phone.